Tin Foil and Chicken Broth

So, is it paranoia IF someone IS really stalking you? 

I filmed this after this guy made several low flying loops just above the treetops and my roof top.   It was a little freaky after the 10th lap around.  Finally he flew off into the great unknown.

A couple days later another sounded like it was about to land on my roof.  I ran to the window to watch him fly past.

Different plane, so "they" are attempting to be incognito.   Now I've noticed "they" are buzzing my house once or twice a week.

I've taken to wearing my tin foil hat around the house, someone suggested I needed to fold it in a pyramid for it to work properly.

When commenting about the increasing paranoia on facebook, my niece put me on to the REAL reason of the spy planes.  And it made perfect sense because it coincides with the increased hits on this blog.  Once again I am getting visitors from all over the world who are googling, "chicken broth". 

So my spy planes are actually trying to steal my homemade chicken and noodle recipe because I'm pretty sure they were flying over at the exact time I've been making the homemade chicken broth.  

Of course!  Perhaps it a big conspiracy by the evil Swanson's corporation because those people have no clue how to make a good chicken broth.

If you think I'm kidding, I give you further proof.  Last week, my family went down to Huntsville, Alabama, home of Redstone Arsenal Base to visit my aunt and my cousins.  There at the space museum was evidence of the spy plane.

Yeah, looks just like those spy planes that have been circling my house.  And I climbed up and could see the spies had scratched part of my broth recipe in the interior.  All I can tell you is that the main ingredient was "chickens".  At least they got that part right.

Wait, here come the blog hits again, all searching for "chicken", "broth", "thanksgiving". 

Gotta run.  Not sure where I put my pyramid tin foil hat.

Coffeypot apparently doesn't believe me.  So I've added some additional proof.

Called the Blackbird, which we all know is code word for chicken.

And they stole the design of the spy plane from Madonna's bra.

Well, I suppose there's a possibility I'm wrong.  Maybe it wasn't this plane.  Come to think of it, the spy planes trying to steal my recipe did look more like this fully functioning rocket, conveniently disguised harmlessly inside the museum.

And contrary to popular belief, Wernher Von Braun was NOT born in America.

Thanksgiving PSA

Shatner may be a hack actor, but he's great in certain roles.  Boston Legal being his best.  A couple of music videos and this commercial from an insurance company.

Call me a sexist,  turkey frying is great, but should only be performed by a strong male, able to lift and lower the turkey VERY slowly.   Use peanut oil, ONLY to the recommended line and lower the fully thawed (and seasonally injected) turkey very, very slowly. 

Check oil temp and turkey temp OFTEN.   Best turkey, bar none.  It's a lot messier than roasting, mainly because it involves men and worrying about waiting until the oil cools back down and can be safely stored away, but it really is more tasty and moist. 



H/T Hotair.com

My Thoughts After Hearing Bob Costas' Interview with Sandusky

“The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.”

If you think evil does not exist, just google Sandusky's answer to Costa's question, "Are you sexually attracted to young boys?" 

The cover-up of these incidents are truly disgusting. 

Personally, I think a Lorena Bobbit procedure followed by a baseball bat to the skull would be light sentence.

Why Should a Date Like 11/11/11 Be Remembered?

According to History Channel documentary on Vietnam, over 2.5 million people served in that war. Surely all of us can thank at least ONE of them this Friday. 11/11/11 should mean more than just another random date, it should be a Veteran's Day we remember, a day we appreciate our freedom and a day to thank our brave Veterans from every war.

God Bless them, every one.

Thank you Bobby, Thank you CoffeyPot, Thank you Greybeard, Thank you Chris. Thank you Tom.  Thank you to all our fine, brave Veterans.  And thank you to anyone I might have missed.

One Man's Nightmare

is another man's fantasy.

Here's to you Coffey.

Enjoy. (privately I hope.

I Am Shocked

SHOCKED, I tell you.

That all my male readers never made even ONE suggestive comment about sucking the gravy off Giada's pinky.

I would have bet $100 every single one of them would have.

Well, except for Jeff, he never gets out of line (at least online). ;)

Not asking for any suggestive comments on this post now, but I would still bet $100 that they all THOUGHT it, just never wrote it.

JUST BECAUSE SOME IDIOT POSTS THINGS ON FACEBOOK DOESN'T MEAN THEY'RE TRUE, Al Roker did NOT SUE Giada.

DISCLAIMER: Apparently there are some people online who cannot tell the difference between a legitimate news story and someone who writes a tongue-in-cheek post on a blog. This was originally a post to generate a discussion regarding what is and is not sexual harassment and some idiot only looked at some heading on a search engine and began to post this headline all over Facebook saying Roker actually sued Giada. Even the notion is ridiculous but if it's anyone on the Internet, it must be true, right? PLEASE go set that person straight wherever you read it and tell them to not post rumors online.

November 1, 2011

NBC Today's Show host, Al Roker today announced through his attorney that he would be filing a lawsuit against world-renowned Italian Chef Giada de Laurentis for sexual harassment.

de Laurentis refused to comment on the lawsuit, even though live video filmed during this morning's episode clearly showed her making a suggestive gesture toward Roker.

Roker's attorney, Ida Chaisder alleged that due to the live filming, Roker was forced to participate in de Laurentis' overtly sexual gestures toward the beloved news/weatherman. NBC has refused to release the video which allegedly shows Giada forced Roker to suck gravy off of the chef's little finger.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

OKAY, ONLY THE LAST TEN WORDS OF THAT STORY ARE TRUE.

I was watching the Today Show this morning where Giada, who is one attractive woman I must say, was filming with Roker a segment on making gravy.

I was in tears watching Roker's reaction to the situation. What made it even funnier was they had just had a segment on whether casual flirting was harmful or harmless.

Giada was demonstrating making various gravies and switching to the previously prepared gravy, she casually stuck her pinky finger in the gravy and offered it to Roker for a taste. A split second elapsed with Roker's eyes widening before he took her up on her offer and sucked the gravy off of Giada's pretty little - little finger.

I'm sure every other happiliy married man would have refused Giada's pinky. (YEAH, righhhht!)

You could nearly instantly see Roker's face begin to turn just a bit red and he was doing everything, and I mean EVERYTHING to NOT say something that would get him in hot water with the FCC.

Giada, realizing his quick embarassment continued on, both were smirking and finally Giada said good-naturedly, "Oh, I do that with my husband all the time."

Roker, again just stiffling what he really wanted to say laughed, "But HE's your husband."

You could tell Roker could barely get through the rest of the segment. The off screen muffled chuckling of the crew wasn't helping Roker. It was probably one of the funniest segments I have ever seen on the Today Show.

So, it begs this question.

What exactly IS sexual harassment?

Working in a predominately male environment for nearly all of my career, I have encountered some of the most inappropriate comments from males that could have easily been interpreted by some precious female as sexual harassment. Joking with male friends at work, even when it is entirely inappropriate has never, in my opinion been sexual harassment. Legally, I could have sued nearly every male I worked with in some frivilous lawsuit if I was so inclined.

I have heard of lawsuits in some of these companies being settled because some guy mentioned something about some woman's hair. And I have watched one young girl get smacked on the rear with a file folder by some married old guy who was obviously infatuated with her. She never filed a lawsuit.

I have watched some creepy guy staring directly at a woman's chest. He was seated, she was standing. He reached up and pulled a hair off of her turtleneck that had landed on her chest. She never filed a lawsuit.

I heard that same creepy guy, with an infatuation with another young girl make overtly sexual remarks to her that she complained about to me. When I suggested she actually go to HR because it was very apparent, she did not. She never filed a lawsuit.

I would never discount true claims of sexual harassment, but I've seen too many women get upset over completely harmless comments and threaten or actually file a lawsuit because it was easy money for a settlement.

........

Roker's wife, ABC News' Deborah Roberts was not available for comment.

p.s. I tried googling a slightly suggestive image for this post and....well, except for the cute baby pics, the rest were X-rated. I think google just sexually harassed me.

H/T to Joan and the Today Show for post idea.

That Old Black Magic

Reposted for Halloween. Yeah, maybe I jumped the gun on this one.

When I realized that he did not recognize me when I came out from the corner, I have to admit I had a thrilling, evil chill run up my spine.  Watching his shoulders shudder ever so slightly, it took every ounce of energy not to burst out laughing and to maintain my carefully applied persona. 

The room lighting helped.  The strobing light bouncing off the black visqueen "walls" was extremely successful in throwing off even the most manly of men.

But unlike the small groups that entered before and after him, he only entered the room with his mother.  His mother, MY mother knew who would be in the room, HE did not.  My spot was tucked inside a convenient fold of the visqueen where I could watch this 33 year old man enter following his momma.

I forced the grin off my face just before I walked out into the strobe light and when his eyes happened to notice that the room was no longer empty, that's when I noticed him move slightly behind Mom like a little boy.

I shuffled my way over to him and could see that he didn't particularly like this scary ghoul coming toward him.  Only after I grabbed his arm and could not help but start laughing did he realize that he had just been spooked by his baby sister.

So, it's true.  Revenge is best served cold and long forgotten.

Many years ago I was part of an Optimist group that held a Haunted Path each October to raise funds to help the kids.  The Haunted Path was fun and COLD.  Four nights staying out late into the night.  I was luckier than most since my area was always visqueened off to allow the strobe light to have its full effect as disoriented group after group would come through.

I learned during the first year to watch the crowd as I would first appear.  I would watch for the "weakling", the one or two people in the crowd that would have an instant reaction, just like Rumbles did when they would first see me. 

The big burly men were by and large as creeped out as the little kids.  I never tried to scare the little kids, but I LOVED it when some big guy would be among the small group and I would just casually let them pass.

The visqueen would move them out of the room into a completely black "hall".  As the crowd would line up to go out to the hall, I would quietly fall in right behind the most scared of the group, getting closer and closer until they could sense someone was behind them and when they would turn around to look at me, I would scream just before they would belt out the biggest little girl scream. 

Once the crowd would snake their way into the hallway, I would grab at their arms through the plastic or let out an ear-splitting scream through the blackness, listening to the scream echo throughout the crowd.

Now that is POWER.

Our older brother was one of the founding members of the Optimist Club.  He has spent his whole life being clean cut, but he scared the most people simply by wearing torn jeans, a leather jacket and a long black wig, looking like some scary biker.  

As people would park their cars in the lot, he would just sneak up behind them and begin to follow them closely.  It would freak them out before they could even buy a ticket.

I miss those cold nights.

Heartbroken

I just learned today that there were devasting floods in Cinque Terre a few days ago that virtually wiped out the beautiful towns of Vernazza and Monterosso.  It's been reported that many bridges and houses are gone.

I am just heartsick. 

Ok, here are both pictures

I would never have guessed that the cute geeky kid would have grown up to be such a cutie.

I figured it out by his eyes

Who is this former child star????      No fair peeking.

Racing Mourns

RIP Dan.  We'll miss you in Indy.

Who Is NOT Marching on Wall Street

Kids that would be future:

Steve Jobs

Mark Zuckerberg

Bill Gates

You can say what you want about capitalism or about the three guys noted above, but HOW MANY JOBS have been created by these guys who were mere kids with some vision?

My Iphone is sad tonight. 

RIP Steve.

Stupid is as Stupid Does

Update:  Ahhh, C. Neul is a modern day prophet.  lol.  Thanks for reminding me of your psychic abilities.

I was all set to write a post of the stupidity of BofA newly announced $5 monthly fee for using your debit card.

I was all set to jump on the greedy bankers bandwagon.  Yes, I KNOW I've spent most of my career in that industry, which was why I was all set to get up in BofA's face about the increased costs that will result of people writing checks instead of using their debit cards. 

I was all set to tell you readers to close your account.

I was all set to explain the inner workings of the banking industry to the executives making this stupid decision.  I had half the post written

But I forgot.

I forgot that last year Dick Durbin's amendment to the Frank/Dodd bill was passed which limited the fees banks are allowed to charge retailers for electronic debit fees, cutting the fees in half.

Those fees are estimated to result in a loss of 6.6 BILLION dollars of revenue for the banks according to a WSJ article today.

I recalled the idiocy of the amendment when I heard the connection today on the radio.

This is where people JUST DON'T GET IT.  If any company is now restricted in a certain aspect of their revenue by some clueless branch of the government, the company will find another avenue to make up the loss of revenue.

How hard is that to understand?  Honestly? 

You don't have to be the Amazing Kreskin to have predicted that the banks would find another route to revenue.

Yeah, it's all about those evil bankers.  Unfortunately for those that voted for this amendment, the connection between their passage of stupid regulations and the increase in customer fees has been reported on all the news. 

Oh, but I'm sure the retailers that are now profitting from the decrease in fees are going to pass that decrease down to their products, right? 

RIGHT?

Bridges of Orange County - He Said, She Said

The "new" old general store.

The old general store has been buried in a watery grave for about forty years now.  Swimming with the fishies, not too far away is the ancient rickety bridge that we would cross slowly in our car, eyeing every broken board always wondering if today was going to be the day it would finally give way.

Crossing that bridge was not just crossing a small creek into the small southern Indiana town formerly known as Newton Stewart.  The bridge was actually a time machine transporting us back into a world that time forgot. 

Over the river and through the woods to grandmother's house we go.  And so it was on the roads that took us from grandma to grandma in our southern Indiana roots.  From one small town known in the 70's for it's high school basketball fame (before class basketball ruined the sport forever for Indiana) through French Lick, the hometown of Larry Bird and back into the past.

Sometimes our advancement of progress towards getting from one place to another completely destroys the simple beauty of extremely winding roads and those quick hills where my dad would press on the gas just at the top to give us kids the "tickle-belly hills" we loved so much. 

Indiana is for the most part, just some flat piece of land where people travel from a state out east to a state out west.  But southern Indiana breaks away just a bit with a little vertical diversity that to this day tugs at my heart strings. 

The 15 miles from Loogootee Indiana to French Lick consists of ever so slightly elevating hills and winding turns reminicient of the old movie Duel, without the wide open spaces.  No one wants to get stuck behind some slowpoke, likewise no one appreciates the idiots that think they should take the wet-your-pants turns at break-neck speeds slightly pushing you with their front bumper.

Getting there is half the fun.  That's what we used to experience on the drive from French Lick to Newton Stewart.  The 12 miles from French Lick to Newton Stewart was even more adventurous.  Sure, nothing like scaling a mountainside, but it was certainly a thrill to four rugrats packed into the back seat of a 1958 push button transmission Chrysler wagon.   (OK, I'm making up the year and make of the car.  I know we had a push button transmission wagon, but I don't know the year or make,  I googled that part, but I'm sure CnC or my brother Mike can straighten that part out quickly).  I do remember it looked something like this, so you guys can figure it out.

This was back in the days where no parent thought anything wrong with letting a three year old ride the whole trek standing up in the front seat.  Of  course no one would consider that today, but back in the early sixties, this was  the equivalent of taking your kid to King's Island.  I never became a bullet out the windshield nor did I ever get thrown out of the back of a pick-up truck.   It was just routine travel back in those days.  I can relish that freedom while still never considering doing that with my grandkids today.  Sure, they are safer, but they'll also never know that feeling of having the wind whip around you like you could fly. 

Beam me back, Scotty.

So once transported across the time travel machine bridge, we would experience life as it had been since the 30's. 

My grandparent's owned the old general store just past the bridge.   The old store (pictured above is the "new" one) made Floyd's barber shop on the Andy Griffith show look like a modern-day hack.  It was a decaying building, housing the post office, the cabinet type refrigerators full of Choc Ola, Double Cola, Grape NeHi and Orange Crush, 

Remembering the store now, it seems as though it had everything that one would imagine out of an old time Hollywood movie, right down to the wood burning stove and the old men sitting around smoking cigars and cigarettes and telling old men stories. One of the old guys was asked once why he always wore the same pair of pants. He replied, "Well, I figured the new dirt just knocks out the old dirt, so it just really doesn't matter much."

Up the big hill stood my grandparent's home.

My grandmother gave birth to 15 children, 11 of them lived to be adults.  She lost her youngest (my uncle Kenny's twin) and her oldest within a week of each other due to the flu epidemic sometime in the 1920's.  She also lost a set of twins, all before my father was born on Christmas Day 1931. 

Up until the time my grandmother was forced to give up her home in the early 70's to make way to what is now Patoka Lake, there was no running water in her home and only an outhouse for a bathroom facility.   I can remember pumping water from the pump that sat on her porch onto my hand to slurp the fresh cool water.  I will also never forget the smell and general yuckiness of having to use the outhouse.

If you trekked out along the small stream that ran through the town you would come upon a clearing that was filled with arrowheads and Indian beads left there from a century or more before.

When the state of Indiana came knocking on my grandmother's door wanting her land, she asked to be allowed to stay on her property and maintain the general store and post office as that area sat atop a hill and was the only area of the former Newton Stewart that was not flooded for the lake.   Her request was denied and she and my uncle were forced to give up the home and move to nearby French Lick.

Of course the move was hard for her, but it did allow her to live her remaining few years in a house that had all of the conveniences that nearly all homes had long ago possessed.  Running water and an indoor bathroom.

I remember the rumor at the time that the caskets of the soon-to-be flooded cemetary would also go under a watery grave and that they would only take a shovel of dirt from each grave and place that dirt to a new location.  I doubt the story is true as I've unfortunately had to return to the cemetary where most of my dad's family is buried, including those children that died before my dad was even born. 

Several years ago, I returned to the area where my grandparent's house stood.  The house is long gone and the "new" general store was being used as a supply shed of some type.  The road that led us to her house now only remains a vague clearing between the old trees and I narrowed my eyes to remember that hill that led down to the old store and the rickety bridge.  I mourned the loss of the time travel bridge and the generations that will never know that under all that water lay many never to be discovered arrow heads. 

The path to get to the town f/k/a Newton Stewart still passes over the great Tillrey Hill.  The road has been smoothed out to a pristine boring flat straight path.  It's been graded into just a tall incline and I feel sad that there is now a whole generation of kids that are driven over the hill and have no concept of thrill of topping that hill, which used to feel you were on the front car of a roller coaster when you crested at the top, unable to see the road beneath you.  Where a dad can gun the gas pedal of the car right at the top and send their little tummies into a quick trip up and spread the giggles throughout the car like a roar.  They will never hear their fathers tell the story about being a little kid growing up in the 30's whose older brothers would scare them with made-up stories of the crazy lady that rode a pig sidesaddle while she stalked young boys along the stream. 

Are there any roads and bridges that still exist today that allow a youngster to go back in time?  Something tells me they have all been paved over or flooded away forever in the name of progress.   Yes I can get there faster, but now the generic lake that flooded the time travel bridge has no magical properties, so why would I want to waste my time?  Getting to Nowhere, Indiana faster seems to be a pointless journey. 

My dad trailing some of the Newton Stewart kids

What He Said

NOW We're Talkin'

Hopefully the start of something big.

http://www.reuters.com/article/2011/09/24/us-usa-campaign-winner-idUSTRE78N2RE20110924

I Left My Heart....

And just lost what I used to consider some of the best music ever.  Can Not, Will Not EVER listen to any Tony Bennett song again. 

Where I Make No Apologies for Who I AM.

It is not blood that runs through my veins, but the splash of a quick summer rain on a too hot day when it pelts down quenching the thirst of my parched back yard leaving it's sweet smell along the way.

The very cells in my skin.  They tell me I should only enjoy the salty air of a nearby ocean, a mere day's drive away.  But in fact, they are packed with the Indiana clay that will never go away.  Not from my skin, not from under my fingernails.  They are permanently part of who I am, what I believe and ultimately what I would not want to spend one single moment forgetting.

I cannot deny I love fresh caught seafood, but that cannot compare to the smell of my hands after man-handling a tomato plant in early July to taste the uncomparable goodness of a red ripe fresh picked Indiana tomato while it's still warm from the summer sun.  Or the dry smell when driving past a field of corn growing in a farmer's field. 

To walk out your backdoor and slice your arms just a bit on the corn stalks that some people only recognize from Field of Dreams and grab a half dozen ears of the Ambrosia sweet corn before a refrigerator has began to spoil the best of your supper for the night.

To bask in the glory of a morel mushroom in those first fine days of May, where we listen to the roar of the race cars at 200 mph while frying those smells throughout the wide open house.

Knowing all this goodness will be quashed under some gloomy dark sky that pervades this middle part of America during those thousands of days in that short month of February.

The place I despise in the winter is the very place that I love all of the days of the year.    I wouldn't trade this boring, flat piece of nowhere for all of the cement and plastic and nothingness that I see on my TV from the glorious elitest who attempt to explain to me that I am not like them.

You're damned right.  I am not.  

So, I'll leave you with the best of the best.  A bit of Pete Fountain, who knows in which state his greatest fan lives.   This courtesy of one of my best friends, whose father gave Pete his entire unparallelled collection when Pete's was drowned under Katrina. 



And I long for my Indiana home.

Technologically Challenged.

Figures.  The old man is just like every other man.  Guess where he gets sidetracked.  At least she keeps her mind on task.



H/T Beej.

The Enemy

For the past five and a half months I have had to work with the most vile creature God ever created.  In fact, I'm not entirely certain God did create him, every morning I'm quite sure he came straight from the gates of hell.  Sometimes I imagine I can still smell the evil foul stench of the day he was created.

From the first minute I walk in the door he begins to mock me.  No one else seems to notice, at least not like I do.  Although there is no expression, I can tell from the minute I round the corner that he will delight in another day of torture.

Literally from the moment I sit down until the last second where I run for the elevator at the end of the day he relishes in the pain he delivers.  Every position I take in those godless hours, he jabs me another blow.  Sometimes I spend the day taking stand after stand just to avoid the torture I get if I only sit back and attempt to be passive.  Passivity is not in my nature, but I try.  Honestly, I try. 

In my mind I dream all day long about picking him up and slamming him through the 5th floor window.  Would that give me some satisfaction?  Maybe, probably. 

I could be the forgiving type if he would just leave me the hell alone, but day after day, hour after hour he is there, waiting for me.  One wrong move, and I seem to be making a lot of them and he punishes me for hours on end.

I've worked with the evil before, but this is different.  This time I have no power.   I can only sit back and let him torture me.   There is no escape except for my flight at the end of the work day.  I can only pray that this vile, torturous creature will not follow me to my next job as he did with my last one.

In most cases I would never think of publishing such things that might label me someone that complains about their work environment to this extent.  But I have decided to fight back...the only way I can.  Through this post.

I have made the decision.  I will post his vile image here and I will revel if suddenly it goes viral and the entire world will associate his picture among the other evil forces this world possesses.

I hope you don't think lesser of me for doing what I would normally never do.  I know his picture will not reflect how truly evil he is, but trust me on this one.  I hate him.  HATE him.

Here, for all the world to see is the most torturous monstrosity ever created.

Ahhhh. The Sweet Taste of an Ordinary Life Returns

Just walked into a downtown restaurant when a Fred Sanford look-alike was shuffling out. I moved before he could reach me and then he said, "Look out Old Woman". I laughed. He didn't. I don't care I still think it was funny.

UPDATE:  Not only THAT, but I was actually able to be at two places at one time today.  Amazingly enough, while I was posting this at a Steak-n-Shake in Indianapolis, I was also apparently in San Jose, California at the exact same time.  How cool is that?  Well, that's where the IP address showed up anyway.  Which is interesting since Steak-n-Shake is actually an Indianapolis based company.  

I'd label that time travel, but it would be more accurately space travel. 

The Bliss of Innocence

She didn't know.

And she was only mildly interested.

I don't know how we got on the subject, but I'm sure it was spurred by the 10th anniversary.

So we talked a bit about Flight 93. 

I tried to not let my emotions overtake my discussion of explaining to her the facts of flight 93.

OK, she's young, but not young enough not to remember 9/11.  She was around 16 or so at the time.  How could she not have any facts at all about the first soldiers of 9/11.  Those brave passengers that were drafted into the war but were also our very first volunteers in that war we didn't know yet was being waged against us.  Have there ever been drafted and yet volunteer soldiers before in our great nation?  

They did not choose to be soldiers, but they did choose to volunteer to fight, to prove that Americans will not stand idly by when called to serve.

And she didn't know about them.  I wonder if she knows who Mark Bingham was?  I know she has some best friends who are gay, as do I, but does she know that a strong gay soccer player was a hero who gave his life fighting in our war against our enemy?    Did she know that he called his mom, left a voice mail where he identified himself as not only Mark, but Mark Bingham as if she didn't know his last name.  Did she know that this guy, that people claim the TEA party hate (we do NOT), was one of the very first volunteer soldiers on the war against terror.

Did she not listen to ANY news, regardless of whether I consider them liberal mainstream or whether I  believe they at least attempt to report the news somewhat unbiasedly?

Maybe because the majority of her life has been spent under this new insecurity that I did not know until I was 42 years old.  Maybe she's just a kid that just is not interested in the news, politics or anything outside of her world.  I don't remember being so disinterested in things in my mid-20's but maybe I was. 

Did  I spend my mid-20's not caring about anything outside of what would affect me that day?

I do know that when I was eligible to vote at 18, I did not.  I remember the rhetoric of how Reagan was a war monger.  I remember hearing only bits and pieces of how he was going to start a war with the USSR.  Thankfully, since I was completely ignorant on what's important, I did not vote in the first election when I was eligible.

Four years later I apparently knew bettter.  I'd have to google who actually ran against Reagan in his second election.  I do know that I voted for Reagan when he ran four years later.  I voted for Bush four years after that and I was sickened by Clinton's election eight years later.

Little did I know that I would long for the days of Bill Clinton.

George Bush was not my first choice for a Republican candidate after that.  I really thought Bob Dole was a great hero and would be our next President. 

Little did I know that just a few days after 9/11 President Bush would give me the comfort that America might endure.

Yes I believe we are safer today than we were ten years ago on the last day of my naivety.   But make no mistake, I believe we are just a breath away from losing our freedoms.  When we have citizens of this great country cheering when an American flag is burned but telling us we are not free to fly those flags for fear of offending someone.  That we are not allowed to say a prayer even though that right is granted to me by the First Amendment.

Today we still have people who hate our freedoms and sadly, not all of them are some crazed Islamic extremist.  Too many of them have grown up right here, under the very freedom that was bought for them by the blood of our soldiers.

So we've protected America and we've protected our youth.  But that protection has apparently evolved into dangerously insulating our youth.  We've insultated them in just ten short years by having them not even knowing the basic facts of 9/11.  Flight 93 meant nothing to this sweet little girl.  I explained to her why all the passengers of the other flights cooperated with the hijackers.  She didn't understand that up until that day, the playbook was go along with the hijackers and you would likely be safe.  She didn't know that the hijackers used box cutters and didn't understand why those would have been effective until just even a little information into Flight 93 allowed those heroes to know differently.

I wish I could envy her innocence.  I really do.  But that would put me in the passenger seat of a flight bound for the World Trade Center.  I would rather choose to be a passenger on flight 93 and know that those SOB's did not determine my fate, but I would choose my method of death.  Make no mistake Cindy Sheehan-types there is no longer a flight-full of passengers that would have chosen a fate other than those on 93 given the proper information.

I believe those people of every gender, religion, race, and sexual preference are true heroes, but I also maintain every group of Americans bound on such a flight, given the situation and the knowledge they had at the time would do the same. 

"As long as there is not an airplane crashing into this building, you're having a good day."

Let's Roll.

When Evil Calls Itself a Martyr

When all your hopes come crashing down.
Someone will pull Her from the rubble.
There She Stands.



If I haven't posted this before....well, shame on me.

NOT America's Mayor

Hey Dumbass.

NO. The separation of church and state is NOT part of the Constitution.

Read it sometime, you might learn something.

Sorry, just couldn't help letting the man who is not America's Mayor get to me with his exclusion of any clergy of any type and no firefighters or police being part of the 9/11 memorial in NYC this weekend. And today, faced with the outrage over this controversy actually said, "There IS a separation of church and state in the Constitution."   If I had to learn the Constitution in high school government class, is it too much for our politicians to know what it says?

THIS, my friends is what's wrong with America.

And THIS IS America's Mayor. 

“The microphone will not melt if we have religious leaders at the 9/11 Memorial.”

I Thought He Looked Familiar

Just sayin'.

Whoooo Are You, Who Who Who Who.

I wonder sometimes.

Well, I wonder when I go to the Recent Visitors link and I find someone who regularly visits this boring little blog of mine that seems to have no substantive value other than my own misguided belief that I had something to say worth reading.  There's probably a half dozen posts or so that I think are worth reading, other than that, I just have a boring little life in middle America.

So I wonder when I see someone visit often that I cannot place because they never comment.  And I wonder how they got here, why they read my posts and who they are.  I used to get regular visits from someone that worked for a local law firm.  Then, poof.  They were gone, or at least gone from reading occasionally at work. 

I get way too many visitors from all over the world looking up the picture of Swanson's chicken broth, which directs them to recipe on homemade chicken and noodles where I say I DON'T use that stuff.  Bet Swanson isn't too happy about that.

Got one this week from someone who googled, "Vietnamese prostitutes of the "60s".  Hilariously enough, it took them to my post about Jane Fonda.  Serves her right.

I can tell that Average Joe lives approximately 30 miles from me.  And since I know where GB and CJ live, I always assume visits from their part of the country are them.  Some people are easy because I visit their site regularly too and they tell where they're from.  That can lead to some interesting misunderstandings when Dana thought I was one of her asshat relatives that hijacked her blog.

I get a post now and then from Babs, so I know whenever I see a visit from that area, it's likely her, but I have no idea how she ended up at this godforsaken blog.  Hi Babs.

Then I have some people that read and comment semi-regularly, but they never show up in the IP addresses.  It's like they're IP ghosts or something, but I'm glad they visit.

The last one comes from someone that comes here often and never comments.  I wonder who you are Denver.  I suppose I don't have to know, but thanks for stopping by anyway.  I have never been to Denver and hear it's just beautiful.  Got an email from a recruiter a week ago asking about whether I would accept a 6 month contract there.  The job was an exact match for my background, so I spouted off an hourly rate double what I've ever made, but still "cheap" by consulting standards and got a quick response back.  Checked out the recruiter's background and company and it's legit.  I'm assuming he sent my information on.   While it would be odd to commute every week, it would be nice to make that kind of dough for half a year.  And it's not like it would be having to go somewhere like Gary, probably the ugliest city in America.

So hello all you people I don't know.  Glad you come past.  Well except for those 500 or so that google chicken broth.  They just get on my nerves.

Barefootin' - He Said, She Said.

Yes I know this episode of He Said, She Said is long overdue.  But here it is.  Don't forget to check out what  He Said.



As I cornered around the garage, running as fast as my grubby little 8-year-old bare feet would take me, I was trying to catch one of the other kids in our late night game of Tag.

It was early September slightly past dusk. Since I was younger than everyone else, of course I was “IT” more often than not.

As I sped across the front of our garage apron, I felt a fast tug on my left foot. No pain, but I instantly knew something was wrong, bad wrong. I belted out one of those nightmarish kid’s screams that pierced the neighborhood and everyone’s eardrums. Although there still wasn’t any pain, I could just “feel” something very wrong with the bottom of my toe. I hobbled as fast as possible to the inside of the house to find solace.

As I went running into the kitchen leaving a trail of blood from my Dad’s metal tool drawer that he had absently left on the garage apron, I saw Mom come flying around the corner clearly understanding those types of screams do not come with just some kiddy type drama.

My brother Mark also came running in. Which I found odd since he despised me since I had taken his “baby of the family” moniker away from him when he was four. It had only been one week since Mark’s own foot had been cut pretty severely under the bridge when he stepped on a piece of glass.

I sat down at one of the chairs and pulled my left foot up to see what the damage actually was. Mark knelt down just about the time I brought up my foot. That’s when all three of us noticed that the entire bottom half of my big toe was…gone. Where the meatiest portion of the bottom of the big toe should have been was only a gaping open wound exposed all the way to the bone of my toe. The blood was quickly forming a nice puddle on the floor when Mark gasped out an “Oh My God” before Mom shushed him back into silence.

The flurry of activity next gets a little blurred with a fading memory. My parents wrapped my foot as tightly as possible, but the blood just kept soaking through. Mom held me in her lap while Dad floored the car to drive to the nearest doctor’s office.

Unfortunately the car was nearly empty on gas and neither Mom nor Dad had any cash. This was long before the days of ATM’s and debit cards. The local gas station was a couple miles down the road. Although Harold, the owner was our neighbor, we didn’t know him well. Dad had Harold fill the tank up “just enough” and THEN told him that he had no money and was rushing me to the doctor. Harold waved him along knowing Dad would pay him as soon as possible. I think about that decision now and then. My parents both were afraid that I was bleeding to death and Dad was caught in a place of telling Harold first and risk not being able to get gas or wait until the car was filled and fess up and tell Harold he would pay him as soon as he could. He chose the latter, probably just too afraid that Harold would say no and he would have no way to get me help as soon as possible. Now and again I think about what must have been running through his mind. I don’t like to think that he was scared for me, but yet I know he was, they both were.

I remember my parents rushing me through a crowded doctor’s office. As best as I can recall, the doctor must have gotten the bleeding under control and then told my parents to take me to the hospital. Since I was still grubby and dirty and the crisis was somewhat calmed, they took me home first to clean me up a bit. I seem to remember Mom putting a nice orange dress on me before we went to the hospital.

Back in the 60’s hospitals weren’t exactly patient or family friendly. They wheeled me away from my parents into a cold examination room, where a young intern unwrapped my toe and began to “numb” it all around with about five shots on what was quickly becoming a very painful toe. He cleaned the wound as much as possible and then he wrapped it up with cotton, and no ointment to prevent the cotton from binding directly into the wound.

The next morning, before my scheduled surgery, you could have heard my screams throughout the all of Indianapolis as they kept trying to soak my toe to extract the cotton the should-have-worked-flipping-burgers-intern had stupidly wrapped tightly the night before. I can vividly remember every detail.

When they finished, they put me on a gurney to head to surgery to graft some skin from my stomach to cover the open toe. Mom and Dad tried to keep up, but hospital staff back in those days didn’t much care if a parent had the time to comfort a scared little girl still crying in pain. I remember the mask over my face and the instant out of consciousness.

Back in 1967, children under 14 were not allowed in the patient rooms and visiting hours, even for parents were very limited. The room I shared the next 10 days with two to three other little girls was the only place I was allowed. There was Mary, who was in a full body cast after she had been hit by a car. There was Jill, a red-headed little girl. I remember asking my mom what was wrong with her and she told me she had leukemia. I knew that Jill was not going to live. Nancy was a girl in another room that would come visit. Her hair was a mess because she had a broken neck and a trac tube. Nancy and her family had been in a horrible car accident. At the accident scene, the medics had moved Nancy away from her parents as they announced that she was dead. A few minutes later one of them heard her gurgling.

So I could do nothing but lay in the bed the entire time. They only time I was even allowed to sit in a chair was when they would change the bed sheet. Twice a day, they would give me an antibiotic shot in my scrawny little legs which felt like they were driving the needle into the bone. Then they would remove the needle from the syringe and give me the empty container to play with. You sure don’t see that happening today.

School had just started before the accident, so my third grade teacher had all the kids create get well cards for me. To this day we laugh about the one that had a big toe drawn on the front along with the words, “Oh Dear Toe”.

On the 10th day, the surgeon came in to remove the stitches. He was not gentle as he cut and yanked the threads from my sore toe and stomach. He complained to my mom that I was being a baby. He was lucky he made it out of the room with all his teeth. After the stitches were gone, the doc took off down the hallway. I can still remember my mom running after him and her yelling, “When can she go home?” He casually said, “I guess today.” If she hadn’t asked, I wonder if I would still be there.

Mom was so excited as she was helping me get dressed and as I slipped out of bed for the first time in 10 days, I stood on my good leg and I promptly hit the floor feeling my weakened leg muscle give out. I can remember how scared I was because I didn’t understand that not using or exercising those tiny little girl calf muscles meant my good leg was just not strong enough to support my weight.

I still can’t believe how ridiculously stupid the medical profession was back then. Not only was it completely unnecessary to keep me in the hospital that long, but to not even have me stand or use my right leg for 10 days???

Today, the scar on my toe still looks pretty nasty and you can feel the bone of my toe hiding just beneath a thin layer of skin.

On a positive note, I continue to use my “ugly toe” as we call it as a method to irritate my nieces and nephews. Our family gatherings are fairly large and someone is always lying on the floor. I wait till they least suspect it and take my bare toe and walk past them casually and then quick as a wink I move my toe to their lips and scream, “Ugly Toe Kiss”. The victim tries to wipe away the leftover toe feeling while the rest of us get a good laugh.

------

Sad Sunday

By now, you might have been walking past your TV while the evening news gave a 20 second spot to the latest events in Indianapolis.

One of the great country bands, Sugarland was all set to go out on stage at the Indiana State Fair.  Just minutes before they were to entertain the crowd an announcer explained that the show would be delayed due to weather, they warned the crowd they may need to evacuate and told them where they should go in that event.

Sadly, just two or three minutes later there was no longer time to take cover.

Tonight's local news took the entire hour covering the story.  Sugarland cancelled their concert tonight, which was supposed to be in Iowa.  Their stage is gone as is their equipment, but that pales in comparison to the five people that lost their lives and the nearly 50 people injured, some severely.

Our governor Mitch Daniels spoke today, his voice cracking talking about the tragedy but offering hope.  There's hope because Hoosiers attending the concert, turned from running from the stage back to saving those trapped under the rigging.  "Hoosiers ran to the trouble, not from the trouble."

Say a prayer tonight for those who have lost someone.  And those still suffering from their injuries.

Jennifer Nettles of Sugarland said, "I am so moved. Moved by the grief of those families who lost loved ones. Moved by the pain of those who were injured and the fear of their families.  Moved by the great heroism as I watched so many brave Indianapolis fans actually run toward the stage to try and help lift and rescue those injured. Moved by the quickness and organization of the emergency workers who set up the triage and tended to the injured."  

The Smartest Man in America

“If the US Government was a family, they would be making $58,000 a year, they spend $75,000 a year and have $327,000 in credit card debt. They are currently proposing BIG spending cuts to reduce their spending to $72,000 a year. These are the actual proportions of the federal budget & debt, reduced to a level that we can understand.”

Any Random Day

This morning I saw a Lotus parked just outside of the Conrad Hotel.  I gawked a bit at it, not recalling if I had ever seen one before.  Maybe it was old or not polished, but I'll have to say I really wasn't that impressed.

The office I work in for my short term contract is EXTREMELY quiet, very little conversations among all the employees, not quite sure why.  They seem to basically like each other and they don't seem to be overly worked, so it's kind of odd.  But this morning in the distance I could hear someone teasing one of the IT boys.  They kept asking when he was going to bring in his girlfriend, said something about she probably doesn't really exist but is just some picture off the internet.  Then I was almost sure someone asked him, "She's your sister, right?"  Maybe he's originally from Kentucky.

Later in the morning the girl next to me was having a telephone conversation discussing the development of a mobile phone app for an upcoming event.  She asked what that city's demographics were.  Then she said, "Well for instance, if your demographic is older, that would suggest an IPhone app as IPhone users are older, a younger demographic would suggest the Android." 

Do you think that's really true? 

After lunch I decided to walk around a bit.  Still checking out the restaurants downtown since it's been 15 years since I worked there.  I passed by a vacant store front.  The door was open and the place was being remodeled for some new business.  There's a LOT of things happening in Indy, getting ready for the SuperBowl next year.  Two men were standing in the doorway.  One guy says very loudly to the other one, "NO, we'll do that on my property."  More arguing ensued, then the first man said,, "That M0(&*&  F&%@* can come here and ....."  I was couldn't hear the rest as I just kept walking.

As I passed the local Jimmy John's I saw their bicycle delivery guy waiting on his bike, nothing in hand since it was nearly 2 pm.  Suddenly I could hear what I assume was some chick behind me clomping fast like a Clydesdale.  I didn't turn around, but as I passed the Jimmy John's guy, he said to her, "SHUT UP."  He didn't sound like he was kidding.  The Clydesdale seemed to stop a few feet later.

Nice shoes.

Even though I forced myself to take a late lunch, the office hours from 8:30 to 5:30 puts me in rush hour at the worst time and makes the afternoons insufferably long, especially with the silence of the office.

At 5:30 sharp I head for the elevator.  As it opened a guy with glasses and in a wheel chair was getting out.  He had a service dog with him.  I smiled, asked him how he was doing.  Then I noticed he had no legs at all but had shoes at the end of the trunk of his body.  The toes of his shoes were both pointing outward.  I assumed he must have some type of ability to walk.  Just before I could step in the elevator, he turned around and realized he had gotten off the wrong floor.

I stuck my hand in the closing door to get it reopened for him and he and his dog wheeled back in.  For some reason I figured he was heading up, so I didn't get on the elevator.  He thanked me as the door closed and then I realized he was heading down and I just missed my elevator. 

Today they had another switchover on my interstate.  Our two lanes had to move over, next to the oncoming traffic.  They were very tight lanes, bordered on both sides by those cement construction barriers.

Suddenly the cars in front of me were braking hard, luckily I had left plenty of room to stop as did the guy behind me.  The car in front of me steers slowly as left as he could with the barriers and I realize there is an entire tread of a semi tire blocking our path.  I too slowly made my way around the tread, wondering how close I was to the barrier and knowing the tire had to just have shredded or it wouldn't have still been where it was.

A few feet up I could see other tire tread bits kicking up in the right hand lane.  Since my exit was coming up, I moved over to the right hand lane and spotted the poor trucker with his flashers on moving slowly.  He had no choice there was absolutely no where else to go. 

I took this picture as the exit was coming up and the cement barriers gave way to the more friendly kind. 

OK, don't report me.  I KNOW I'm not supposed to take pictures while driving, which explains why the picture is really off center.  And we were barely moving, so I thought it would be okay.  Even though the exit was just feet away, he pulled off in the first breakdown lane he could.  Poor guy.

GenCon starts tomorrow.  I'll have to have my phone charged and ready to take random pictures of the geeks invading town.

Exciting life, huh?

I'll take "Something Sounds Fishy" for $200 Alex

So by now I'm sure you've heard about the heroic efforts of Alex Trebek chasing down a burgler.

So, in true Jeopardy fashion, I'll put it this way.

And the answer is.......

"Because famous people do stupid things."


My question is......

"Why do I have a nagging suspicion that a "celebrity" who claims that he was awoken in the middle of the night by a FEMALE burgler in a hotel room and first put on his underwear before he chased her down in the hallway could actually have hired that female for an evening away from his wife?"

Does anyone else find the story a bit odd?  And Alex is the one that said in an interview that he put on his underwear before running after her.  I'm sure there are a lot of men that sleep in the nude, but how many burglers that break into an occupied room in the middle of the night are female?  I wouldn't place any bets his story is exactly accurate.

Bob Hope vs Jane Fonda

Bob Hope performed in 199 USO tours.

"If I have to lay an egg for my country, I'll do it." - Bob Hope

In 1969, President Lyndon Johnson bestowed the Presidential Medal of Freedom upon Bob Hope for his service to the men and women of the armed forces through the USO.
In 1997, the USO successfully worked with Congress to designate Bob Hope the first honorary veteran of the U.S. armed forces.

"I guess I have my critics everywhere." – Bob Hope - In Saigon where a bomb went off at his hotel just before he checked in.

"If I had that kind of money, I wouldn't come to Vietnam, I'd send for it." – Bob Hope - Denying reports during a Christmas troop show in Saigon that he was worth $500 million.

As far as I can tell Jane Fonda went to Vietnam ONCE.

"I, a Socialist, think we should strive toward a Socialist society, all the way to Communism." Jane Fonda

""If you understood what Communism was, you would hope, you would pray on your knees that one day we would become Communist." (speaking to students at the University of Michigan in 1970)

"I wanted to do a tour like I did during the Vietnam War, a tour of the country. But then Cindy Sheehan filled in the gap, and she is better at this than I am. I carry too much baggage." - Jane Fonda

And finally, according to Wikipedia:

During her trip, Fonda made ten radio broadcasts in which she denounced American political and military leaders as "war criminals". Fonda has defended her decision to travel to North Vietnam and her radio broadcasts. Also during the course of her visit, Fonda visited American prisoners of war (POWs), and brought back messages from them to their families. When cases of torture began to emerge among POWs returning to the United States, Fonda called the returning POWs "hypocrites and liars". She added, "These were not men who had been tortured. These were not men who had been starved. These were not men who had been brainwashed." Later, on the subject of torture used during the Vietnam War, Fonda told The New York Times in 1973, "I'm quite sure that there were incidents of torture ... but the pilots who were saying it was the policy of the Vietnamese and that it was systematic, I believe that's a lie." Fonda further stated that the POWs were "military careerists and professional killers" who are "trying to make themselves look self-righteous, but they are war criminals according to the law".

Now she's spending her time crying over being dropped from QVC and never admitted what she did, writing an article claiming how everyone's lying and she's a great American.

Jane:  Try spending your ass in a foxhole for a year with the enemy shooting at you.  You are a traitor to every man and woman that fought in Vietnam, and to the rest of America, except your Cindy Sheehan idol.  The world would be a better place with your face hidden behind a burqa.

He Eats Ken-L-Rations

My dog's better than yours.



H/T to Hotair

Apparently Some Genes Can't Be Broken

My father was a mechanic.  He was like alot of men.  I've heard several wives who have husbands who paint for a living and won't paint at home, or they are handymen and won't fix the routine maintenance on their own home. 

My dad repaired things, but not necessarily in the preferred fashion.  He repaired our cars with whatever might be handy.  I'm sure both my brothers could tell you the crazy things he did to keep our cars running.

So...my brother Mark loves to cook.  I remember over 30 years ago when he lived in a trailer in our back yard he was making a chocolate cream pie.  He didn't have a mixer, only a beater that would fit into a mixer.  Don't ask my why he didn't walk 50 feet and go to our house and borrow a mixer, that is something that I'm sure Einstein himself couldn't answer.

Instead, He grabs his drill, takes off the drill bit and duct tapes the beater to the drill and proceeds to whip up his concoction.   Tasted pretty good, I'll have to admit.  Maybe the drill grease was a secret ingredient.

Several months ago, his garage door opener broke.  Looking around his garage he found whatever was laying around, which happened to be parts of an ice maker. 

You should have heard my husband laughing when he realized that my inventor brother had rigged parts of an ice maker to make his garage door opener continue to work.  Don't ask me how.   I'm sure somewhere there is an attorney that told ice maker makers to include warnings that say, "Ice maker parts should not be used to become a garage door opener" because some crazy person did it, was injured and sued.  Bob liked to call him Rube Goldberg, which fits so well.  And I won't EVEN go into why he installed a funnel in his garage, next to the sink, but I suppose only a man could figure out why.

Anyway to this day, my brother loves to cook, in fact does most of the cooking in his household.  We routinely visit to partake of his chili, spaghetti, anything fixed in his smoker.  He is really a very good cook.

So last fall,  I invited my family to watch the Colts game and to let me know and I would fix some coney dogs.  I also love to cook and there is something about football that seems to require coney dogs.  

No one responded until my Einstein brother called about an hour and half before the game.  I told him I would run and get some stuff to make us some coney dogs and I can hear my sister-in-law in the background screeching something. 

Just so no one will get the wrong impression here, my family thrives on smart-a$$e$, so my sis-in-law fits right in.

Anyway, she is yelling so I can hear her, "Tell her that I don't want coney's, she puts too much meat into her coney sauce."  Yes, she is very odd.  Love her, but puhlease...who are you, Princess Diana?  How do you have too much meat for a coney dog?   I already had a turkey breast roasting in the oven, but I knew it wouldn't be done in time and besides, she got sick once on chicken and I figured I would probably have too much meat in the turkey breast.

So I am trying desperately (because I only want to please my family and would never think of serving my dear crazy sis-in-law, Lady Di too much meat in her coneys) trying to figure out something I can make in 30 minutes that will make her happy for at least the entire Colts game.  I only want to keep her happy.

Mark and I finally decide I can make tacos and they will run past the store on their way over since I didn't have anything in the house.

Of course I am trying to figure out how to make tacos with not alot of meat, but I didn't fret over it too much. 

They arrive with about 25 minutes to spare before the game begins

I fried up the taco MEAT.  They brought some canned cheese sauce and refried beans along with chips and all the fixins. 

I take the refried beans, open the can with a can opener and am about to scoop out the refried beans into a microwavable bowl when my poor-man's inventor brother takes the can.  He turns it upside down over the bowl and I see him grabbing my good knife that I had on the counter.  This is not a Wal-Mart $5.99 knife, this was a GOOD set of knives I paid a dime-shy of a fortune for.

I have an immediate flashback to my dad.  Back when countertops had metal edges, my dad and his buddies used the metal edge to pop off the caps of beer bottles. 

I could see what he was going to do and was yelling NO NO NO.  Short of sticking my hand between the can and the knife, there was no stopping what was about to happen.

My genius brother did what my family used to do to get dog food out of the can.  After opening one end, you "release" the vacuum by stabbing the bottom of the can with a knife so you can just shake out the contents.  I'm pretty sure you could get the same affect by simply using the can opening on the bottom side.  Personally, I just use a spatula to get stuff out of a can. 

Did I mention that I love my knives? 

I watch him, screaming like I was Julia Roberts in Sleeping With The Enemy while he stabs the bottom of the can.  He was lucky I didn't have a gun.

I grabbed my abused knife out of his hand while he is laughing at me and inspect it like I'm a genetic scientist. Since I didn't have a microscope handy, I couldn't see any permanent damage, although I'm sure it's there lurking, waiting until I want to slice a tomato.

I did what came naturally.  I slapped him hard on the shoulder.  And the closest shoulder was the one which had just been operated on a couple weeks ago and is still in a sling.

Hey, his shoulder will heal, my knife won't.

Best quote for our Independence

"Seems it always happens, whenever we get too high hat, too sophisticated for flag waving, some thug nation decides we're a pushover or ready to be blackjacked.  And it isn't long before we're looking up mighty anxiously to be sure the flag is still waving over us."